


The Mark of Oxin: A Narrative

by booktrash23



Category: The Mark of Oxin (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktrash23/pseuds/booktrash23
Summary: A narrative retelling of the RPG by Phillip Michael Lester.Includes original elements, but adheres closely to the source material.





	1. In the Castle's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phil Lester](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Phil+Lester).
  * Inspired by [The Mark of Oxin](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/283692) by Phillip Michael Lester. 



The castle was worthy of filling any onlooker with awe. It rose so high its turrets blocked out the blaze of the midday sun; its solemn, grey brick exterior stood in sharp contrast with the candy-green grass and gumdrop-coloured flowers growing along the side of the dirt road just outside. The gigantic, gaping doors stood like a lethal dare—a seemingly unprotected entrance to those who overlooked the sharp slices of sunlight glinting off the steel spears and armour of the royal guards. To the extraordinary observer, eyes could be glimpsed in secret windows in the turrets and in large nooks in the weather-worn bricks, always ready to shoot down intruders. The structure almost gave the impression of an adult looking down on a group of children, a figure of power amongst a crowd of naive followers.

Even Alex, well-travelled though he was, could not bring himself to come any closer. He stood in the shadow cast by the edifice, grateful for the escape from the blistering summer heat. Sweat idly slid down his temples and pooled at his collarbones; at the nape of his neck, it dripped down his back and gave the tickly sensation of crawling spiders until he angrily batted the droplets with his hand, and they absorbed into his threadbare cloth armour. 

Everything about Alex was thin: his clothes, his blade, his tattered shoes, his bony limbs. To anyone who dared point them out, he would readily admit to these shortcomings with his signature smirk, hands on hips, and snarky remark ready on his tongue. 

But the thinnest thing of all, he could not bring himself to think about: his reason for being in this town.

A recent graduate of his local military academy, Alex had been nothing but confidence when he’d packed his backpack with the bare essentials and left his aunt’s house in the mountains without looking back. Although many, many people had tried to talk him out of his plans of becoming a private soldier for the king, he’d scoffed and dismissed them all without much thought. As far as he knew, he was the only soldier alive capable of casting magic, so that gave him a special edge for a royal profession. And what was more, going on adventures and fighting in important battles was his childhood dream—was he to abandon that for a practical life of herding goats with his cousins?

The time in his life when doubt had started to seep into his mind was when he started having the dreams. Strange, vivid visions of places he’d never seen before. They’d seemed burned into the back of his eyelids each time he woke up in a cold sweat, hurrying to his sketchbook and stick of charcoal to preserve the memory: a snowcapped mountain, a field of pink and yellow wildflowers, a threadbare rope bridge swinging across a chasm. And, finally, a giant grey-brick castle.

The path to the kingdom’s capital.

It was a sign, surely. God wanted him to travel to the capital and become the King’s Chosen One, his right hand man. Alex would have riches; he would have fame; people would tell stories of his victories for generations. In retrospect, he’d probably been babbling like a madman after those dreams, and his aunt’s concerned tone when she spoke to him had been quite justified.

“Alex, are you sure about this?” she’d asked, fidgeting with the lilac scarf round her neck. “I thought you were going to join the War first, get some military experience, maybe get a higher education at university.” she’d given a nervous chuckle then, and the unhappiness of her smile had hammered little cracks in Alex’s resolve.

“Auntie, I can’t delay it,” he’d answered gravely. “I know I’m young, but I have this  _ feeling! _ ” he’d opened his hands emphatically then, like little starbursts with his fingers. Explosions of an idea. “I need to be there now. The time has come for me to prove myself.”

So Alex had left his childhood home and trekked the familiar, treacherous path across the mountain range. There was no road to the capital from his village, so he’d relied on accounts from travelling merchants and his dream sketches to slowly make his way there. 

He’d seen the snow-capped mountain. He’d smelled the wildflowers. He’d reinforced the bridge with rope he’d pilfered from his uncle and crossed it.

And he stood now, right next to the castle, and he couldn’t help but feel that doubt and fear had clawed at his willpower for too long; it felt as worn through as the clothes on his back. 

Sliding his sweat-slick hair out of his face, Alex once again braved the glare of the sun as he left the shelter of the castle’s shadow and continued down the road. He didn’t know where he was going; in fact, he was barely looking up, his travel-weary eyes continually dropping down to his shoes, watching them make crunching steps on the dry earth. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. He should be looking for a royal envoy, or writing a letter to the castle, or trying to think of some other way to meet with the king. But with every step, he convinced himself that he couldn’t start if he had so few weapons, such shabby clothes, and absolutely no money to do anything about it.

So enveloped in his self-pity was he that Alex didn’t notice the little boy until he literally bumped into him. 

_ “Oof,” _ went the mousy haired child as he staggered back a step from the impact.

“Oh—I’m sorry,” stammered Alex, guilt prickling his skin, but the boy just gave a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“I found this on the ground,” the boy explained, holding out in his chubby hand a bulging burlap sack Alex hadn’t noticed before. “I want you to have it.”

The bag was half the boy’s size and was apparently too heavy for him to carry, given the suspicious depression in the ground which continued for several hundred feet and led directly to it. Without thinking, Alex bent down and gripped the top of the bag. The boy immediately let go and sprinted away, laughing.

“Wait—stop!” Alex yelled, preparing to run after him, but the bag really was heavy, and Alex’s arms were already shaking from the effort to hold it.

The boy whipped his smiling face around at Alex. “See you soon!” he called, and giggled as he continued to run away, kicking up dirt in his wake.

Red-faced, panting, and a little embarrassed at his inability to run with the extra weight, Alex stopped and held the bag open to peer inside. His jaw dropped even as his cynical mind immediately jumped to doubt the validity of the dozens of gold coins the sunlight illuminated within.

His head whipped to either side of him, brown ponytail flying behind him, as he checked for onlookers. A couple strangers who hadn’t paid him any mind before then looked up, curious about his sudden, strange behaviour. Alex mentally reprimanded himself and searched for a place to test the coins in peace.

Repeatedly chanting  _ act natural _ in his mind, Alex made his way over to a nearby peach tree, where any passersby would think he was just collecting fruit or something. He flopped down in front of the trunk and fished out a coin from the bag, proceeding to inspect it from every possible angle. It was smooth and a bit warm, the edges ribbed, the sides engraved with an official-looking seal. Alex bit down hard on the coin and was astonished at the dents made in the yellow metal.

It really  _ was _ gold.

As quickly as he could, Alex dumped the contents of the bag onto the grass beside him and began the meticulous process of counting each one. With every coin, giddiness rose up in him like a tidal wave. 

Two hundred gold coins.

With a snap like a broken elastic band, Alex leapt up from his spot by the tree and made a beeline for the nearest weapons store, a gigantic smile stretched across his face.

His wonderful momentum was abruptly halted by a girl with a shock of lime-green hair pushed away from her scowling face by a thick red hairband. With his tunnel vision, Alex hadn’t even seen her until she grabbed his wrist. Not good soldier practice; his general would be disappointed in him.

“The king needs to talk to you,” she declared baldly. The contents of this unceremonious notification dawned on Alex slowly, like sand settling in water. The  _ king _ wanted to talk to  _ him? _ Perhaps the monarch was psychic.

“Hmm, I wonder what for?” Alex murmured, more thinking aloud than he was speaking to the girl in front of him. Reprimanding his previously unobservant behaviour, he gave her a second glance, noticing that her dress had the name  _ Carol _ stitched into it in plain black thread before she turned around and walked away from him. He considered calling after her and demanding more information, or perhaps better closure to their conversation, but he had other things to do. His mind was buzzing from the possibilities and revelations of an already exciting day.

He really should have gone to see the king immediately—it would be rude to ignore a royal request—but he did look quite pathetic in his current state, so he made his way over to the weapons shop first. 

“Good day!” greeted the owner with a commercial smile and wave as Alex all but flew in through the front door in his enthusiasm. His jaw dropped as he analysed the walls above his head: shelves lined with battle axes and swords and spears, the blades all gleaming with newness, the handles of soft, pristine leather. Alex had been in his share of weapons shops, given his training as a soldier, but he’d never been in a position to actually afford stuff before. But even as he felt his spirits soar, he knew that two hundred gold wasn’t enough to buy him anything on the higher shelves. 

With a slightly narrower grin, he focused his attention on the shelves in front of him: row upon row of palm-sized potion bottles, the glass refracting the sunlight and making the purple liquid within seem to sparkle; haphazard piles of bright crimson apples; a few Phoenix downs draped casually over dusty wooden crates, the fiery colours glinting in the light, reincarnation magic emanating from every fibre of feather.

Alex decided to empty his coffers and buy a Phoenix down (which he attempted to fold before balling it up and stuffing it into his backpack) and two bottles of potion. He probably should have heeded his sage General’s advice and saved some money in case he came across a better shop later, but he never had been the frugal type.

With neither a regret nor a care in his heart, Alex whistled as he jogged down the dirt road to the castle for his audience with the King.


	2. An Audience with the King

Alex’s soaring confidence was admittedly dented when he returned to the shadow of the great castle, pinned under the stares of royal guards both overt and hidden. He entered the gates undisturbed—the guards must have been notified of the king’s audience—and every softly thudding step on the cold stone though the dim hallway heightened his apprehension until it bordered on something very much like fear. Alex shook his head, as though the doubts were a living thing on his skin and could be forced off. He was a trained soldier, an articulate and intelligent young man—what did he have to fear from a measly king? Nothing.

From the corner of his eye, Alex spied a large spider descending from the inky shadows of the ceiling. Slapping his hand over his mouth, he managed to suppress the squeal that rose in his throat, but the pounding of his jolted, scrambling footsteps echoed down the corridor. With burning cheeks, Alex stuffed both hands into his pockets and made his way towards the throne room with renewed urgency.

When he finally passed under the ornate arch into the expansive throne room, Alex felt the last shreds of his confidence drip away.

It was not the room itself that knocked the breath from his lungs. Although the chamber was vast, likely capable of holding the whole town’s population within it, its otherwise unimpressive interior betrayed the kingdom’s financial woes. The pale lavender columns along all four walls were chipped, the formerly ornate engravings on the wall crumbling from the centuries. A long, wooden table surrounded by matching chairs served as the only furniture on the patterned floor—with the exception, of course, of the throne itself.

The throne was made of the same polished oak wood as the table—a symbol of pride for the country’s main export. Twin banners hung from wooden poles on either side of the chair: scarlet, embroidered with gold and emblazoned with the double-headed snake, the national symbol. As Alex neared the throne, he could see intricate, swirling carvings on the armrests and the back, which extended high above the King’s dove-grey hair.

The King himself was what filled Alex with more unease with each step he took on the royal grounds. Though he seemed of average height, he sat on his throne with the air of someone who was very tall, and indeed the crown sat upon his head contributed to his height. It was burnished gold, inlaid with rubies like drops of blood; its wealth outmatched even the fur-lined red velvet cape which adorned the King’s neck and broad shoulders. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed to frame his jaw and shoulders, and his bold eyebrows were manicured to perfection. His eyes were the most intimidating Alex had ever seen; they were the kind of fierce eyes that guaranteed kindness and loyalty to those who treated him well and cold, ruthless rage to those who did not. They were a peculiar shade of brown; perhaps it was the influence of the crown, but Alex thought that the King’s eyes were almost gold-coloured.

Alex had met with royalty before—aristocrats, baronets, the King’s extended family—but always in formation, with dozens of other soldiers of the same age and with the same cold sweat on their brows surrounding him. He felt utterly naked now, his solitude erasing any possible margin of error. How quickly should he approach the King? How far away from the throne was he supposed to stand? Should his posture be stiff and straight, like a soldier? Or was that inappropriate outside of a military context? 

He felt every bit of the scratchy blue and white fabric of his clothes rubbing against his skin; the skin that was exposed felt the hovering sensation of gazes roaming over it, and rightly so, because at least a dozen helmeted guards in dark steel armour were stationed all around the room by the columns.

A strand of hair escaped Alex’s loose ponytail and settled lightly on his cheekbone, scaring the living daylights out of him. He subsequently felt the intense urge to facepalm into a spiralling abyss that would take him far, far away from this throne room.

If the king noticed Alex’s startle, he gave no indication. Alex took this opportunity to give himself one last pep talk.

_ You’ve faced scarier things than this King. You’ve spent years at a military academy; you’re thoroughly trained for life-and-death situations. You might not be a diplomat, but you sure as hell know how to fake it till you make it. _

With one last, shuddering sigh to soothe his nerves, Alex bent at the waist and bowed before the King.

“Good morning, Alex,” rumbled the monarch in his deep baritone.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Alex returned with false confidence as he straightened his back, internally wincing at his own squeaky tenor. A second later, his heart nearly stopped as he realised his error—he had misaddressed the King. It was princes and princesses who were referred to as  _ Your Highness _ , while kings and queens earned the honorific  _ Your Majesty _ ! Flashbacks of a stuffy classroom and late afternoon naps taken in the warm sunlight filtering through a window whizzed through Alex’s mind as he struggled to remember his diplomacy lessons in military school.  _ “How is addressing a Duke different from addressing a Count?” _ he remembered his professor asking in her soft, lilting voice. It wasn’t his fault he’d been taught by someone who was better suited to singing lullabies or reading bedtime stories.

Again, the King did not react to Alex’s faux pas. “I would like you to enter my training area to prove to me that you are a true soldier.” he declared, his voice echoing to all corners of the room.

Excitement caught at Alex’s throat and rendered him unable to speak. It was happening! He was really getting a chance to live his dream! He fought the giant smile that threatened to spread across his face.

The King’s substantial eyebrows suddenly furrowed, and his eyes strayed from Alex’s face. Alex knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.

“Hmm, what is that mark on your neck?” the King asked.

Even in the presence of royalty, Alex felt the prickle of annoyance that always accompanied inquiries from strangers into the scar on his neck. He was an idiot for not having worn a scarf, but it was so hot outside he hadn’t even considered it.

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” he responded, raising a dismissive shoulder; thankfully, it wouldn’t be hard to change the subject. “Can I get some training? I feel I am ready to serve you.”

“Very well,” said the King, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes from Alex’s enthusiasm. “Go through the door on the right to enter.”

Alex’s resolve not to smile diminished; he was beaming as he tried not to sprint for the giant oak door the King spoke of.

“Be careful,” the King called after him; Alex stopped in his tracks and nearly slid on the polished floor. “It is very dangerous in there.”

His warning slipped off of Alex’s skin like oil; the words barely registered in his mind as the King nodded in finality and Alex pushed on the heavy door to enter the training area.


	3. Into the Training Area

Alex was blasted by heat, so much more scorching than the swelter outside the castle; he was blinded by the sunlight after the dim throne room. He barely had time to register his surroundings—a large courtyard walled in by grey brick, orange-yellow sand beneath his feet, the gurgling of a stream in the near distance—before he was approached by a girl.

“Welcome to the training area,” she chirped. “I will help you through this, if you like.”

She seemed about Alex’s age; her large blue eyes crinkled as she smiled and her thick, indigo hair was pushed away from her face with a white headband. She held out a slender hand to Alex and he shook it, hoping she couldn’t feel the sweat on his palms.

“Okay then,” he said. “I’m Alex. And your name?”

“I’m Emily,” she answered. Alex was so distracted by her broad, pink-lipped smile that he didn’t notice when her eyes strayed to his neck. “Hey, what’s that mark on your neck?”

Her question snapped him back to reality. Geez, were city people all this upfront about pointing out others’ imperfections? He slipped his hand out of hers and stuffed it into his pocket.

“…Are you a magic user?” he asked after an awkward pause. The silver sash she wore on her red dress answered his question, but he had to change the topic somehow.

“Yes; I’m improving,” she said. Her observant eyes picked out his own silver sash upon blue military clothes. “Hey! You’re a soldier—how come you can cast magic?”

Alex felt heat creep into his cheeks and tried to force the embarrassment down. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault he wasn’t normal; why did she have to keep bringing it up?

“Can we stop the questions and start training?” it came out sharper than he intended; he winced in regret when he saw her brows furrow and her smile drop. She took a step away from him.

“Okay then, whatever…” she murmured. She turned away to face his right, where the path continued for a few hundred metres before turning. Wordlessly, they started walking, and she stepped into place a few feet behind him. 

The sand beneath their feet was so hot Alex could feel it through his shoes. He didn’t have to wonder about the cause of the heat for too long, because they soon approached a grey stone on the ground bearing a warning.

**WATCH OUT FOR LAVA POOLS AHEAD. FALLING IN COULD BE FATAL.**

The sign likely referred to the large pools of thick, pulsing red liquid right in front of them.

“Lava?” Alex said, stepping as close to one pool as he dared. He felt the heat like a physical wall crashing into his skin. The lava was glowing, mainly red, but also yellow or black in some places. “What  _ is _ that stuff?”

“Liquid rock,” Emily supplied. Alex blinked.

“Liquid  _ rock? _ ” he echoed, a little breathless. “You must be joking. I didn’t know rocks could  _ melt _ .”

“Sure they can, if it’s hot enough,” she said. Alex’s eyes wandered to the stream nearby them, over which hovered a fine sheet of steam. He took another step towards the lava pool, fascinated by the slow, undulating mixture. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t go too near that if I were you,” Emily warned. “We haven’t had any deaths yet, but the castle staff are all well-trained and careful. And I’m sure you’re careful too,” she added hurriedly when she saw his expression, bringing her hands up. “But I don’t quite know you yet.”

“I  _ am _ a certified soldier, you know,” he grumbled. Emily just looked amused.

The problem was that avoiding the lava pools was inevitable; apart from swimming across the stream (and the rapid current outlining the water in thick, white froth did not seem tempting to Alex), the only way to the end of the path was carefully skirting around the lava pools. One of the pools was so close to the riverbank that he and Emily had to walk single file, one foot in front of the other and arms out to their sides, like they were walking on a tightrope. Just inches to either side of their feet was bubbling, fiery red lava; to the other side, the treacherous stream, waiting to catch them if they fell. 

Alex’s heart was thundering throughout the whole ordeal.

He leaped the final step, revelling in the new space his feet had to move. He had only a moment to let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before he saw the Spiders.

Gigantic twin spiders, bigger than Alex and striped yellow and black like wasps, floated at eye level just feet away from him. Their bloodred eyes were trained on him as their pincers snapped and they raised their long, creepy legs.

Alex—wide-eyed, slack-jawed—was frozen in fear until Emily shouted at him from behind, 

“Well, fight it! What are you waiting for?”

_ Fight it _ . Right. He was in a training area. That was the whole point.

He brought his backpack around in a fluid motion and opened it up, fumbling with the buttons in his panic. Meanwhile, Emily pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back and shot one of the floating Spiders; it embedded itself in the creature’s side, making it screech and drop to the ground with a heavy thud, giant legs flailing in panic. They stilled only a moment later, and the Spider disintegrated into black-and-yellow sand, revealing the pattern of the breeze which carried it away.

Remembering that his weapon was located  _ at his side _ , Alex fought the urge to facepalm as he unsheathed his dagger, slashing at the other Spider’s underbelly and cracking its hard exoskeleton. More leg-flailing ensued, from all parties.

With the Spider only injured and not dead, Alex decided that now would be the best chance to use his magic to kill it off. He extended his hand and tunneled his vision as focused on the sizable arachnid, imagining a thin rope connecting it to his hand, a chain of events that would lead to a spark igniting within the monster. 

_ Click _ , went the sound in his head. 

No, not a sound, but the feeling of two things perfectly fitting together.

In the same instant, the spider burst into blinding, orange flame.

It took only a few seconds for the creature to be burned to a blackened crisp, after which its ashes were blown away by the same mysterious breeze that had taken its brethren. 

Alex was panting and sweat-drenched. The heat from the flame, combined with the already scorching courtyard, was so intense it had made him dizzy. His vision blurred. He realized that his arm was still extended and he slowly brought it down to rest at his side.

“That was quite good,” came a voice at his left. Emily’s blue eyebrows were raised as she slung her oak bow over her shoulder. “Especially since flame is difficult to control, I’ve heard.”

Alex hummed his assent; his mouth was occupied with the water bottle he was emptying into it. Even though the water was warm, he made himself drink it.  _ Always drink as much water as you can, _ he remembered his General advising.  _ It’s the one thing you shouldn’t ration. _

“Are you alright?” she asked with concern in her tone. Alex tried to nod while drinking and ended up dribbling some water down the side of his face. He held the bottle away from him and swallowed his gulp before nodding properly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered, realizing his breathlessness did not make for a strong case. “Just not used to the heat.”

“Oh, right. Where are you from, then?” Emily asked, batting her eyes and smiling sweetly. 

Alex saw through her attempt to continue her interrogation of him and sought to end it. “We should get going. Look, there are coins where the spiders were; we can split it.”

He didn’t miss how she pursed her lips in frustration before bending down to help him collect gold from the sand. There were thirty coins in total, fifteen between the two of them. Alex couldn’t fight a smile as he dropped the money into his bag. It probably wasn’t much to Emily, but to a poor village boy, every coin counted. The clinking sound of gold against gold bought him some comfort in the unfamiliar terrain.


End file.
